The Dark Awakening
by depressionisanillusion
Summary: Many things are happening. Aenir is full of healing, the Selski are changing, feelings are growing stronger. For Tal ad Milla, it's much too hard to handle . . . alone.
1. CHAPTER ONE

A/N - This is my first attempt at writing a Seventh Tower fanfiction. I hope all you ST fans out

there like it. I'm liking writing it.

**:Chapter One:**

He awoke to coldness. It was the only thing he felt, and it filled him. He couldn't move. His bones seemed pumped full of ice, and he could feel the slow, lethargic beat of his heart. He tried to move his arms, but nothing happened. Frantically, he tried again. And again. Not one part of his body would respond to his commands. _Dear God,_ he thought in panic. _Have I been dismembered?_

But he knew he hadn't been. He'd just been sleeping for a long, long time. Too long. His body mut have adjusted to not moving, and decided it like the comatose state better than fighting dragons.

Fighting dragons . . . Scattered memories flowed through his mind, images, sounds. A tornado of rock. A giant dragon. A blonde-haired girl, fighting. A girl named Milla.

As the images rushed back into his mind, seeming as though they'd merely been held in a cage until that moment, he was stuck by a different thought; not a memory, but something else.

_I don't remember going to sleep. _It hit him hard, harder than any of the other pictures that were still flooding his brain, trying to force them back in as memories, not just scattered pieces.

A boy with brown hair streaked with bright green. Two giant, puffy creatures, seemingly made out of cloud. A boat made of light.

_I fell. I died. I remember the pain. I remember Milla's screams. Why am I not dead?_

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was the afterlife. He opened his eyes, glad that they at least heeded his commands. He wasn't on a plinth of stone, surrounded by a whirling mass of rock and gravel, like he'd expected. The scene that greeted his eyes was unfamiliar. Light shone through an opening of what seemed to be some sort of animal hide, which was stretched over a bare frame of wood. It was like a hut of some kind, which creaked in the wind that blew over the plain which he could see through the opening.

_I fought Sharrakor. Or Skerrako, or whatever he was called. The big dragon thing, anyway. It hit Milla, and fought it. I killed it, with . . . What? How did I kill Sharrakor?_

The feeling was slowly coming back into his legs. He could feel little tingles creeping from his toes to his knees. It was painful, and uncomfortable, but it was feeling. It was definitely a start. He wiggled his toes, and found that they could move. Hesitantly and unwillingly, the moved the slightest fraction of an inch. He felt heartened.

"Well, my little friend," came a slightly raspy voice from his left. He tried to move his head to see, but it was too much. Pain shot through his neck, and he gasped at its intensity. "Don't try too hard to move just now," the voice continued. "You've been under for quite a while, though I must admit, I didn't expect you awake so early. I always knew you humans had more stamina than you're given credit for."

"Tell me," he managed to choke out through his swollen, parched lips. "Where am I? How long have I been . . . under?"

"You've been asleep for almost two months, if you can call it asleep. And you're in a safe place. Skerrako's minions can't hurt you, now that you're under the protection of Pettoff."

"Who's . . . Pettoff?" He croaked. His throat felt as dry as rock, and he couldn't swallow. He had a strong feeling that there wouldn't be any moisture even if he did.

"Time enough for all of your questions later, my boy. For now, you need to rest. In the morning, we can talk. Oh yes, we can talk. Now that you're finally awake, you won't have problems going to sleep. I'll set a remedy out."

"I've been sleeping for two months," he argued. The voice chuckled as he continued, "Surely I don't need any more rest?"

The gentle laughter reached his ears and seemed to soothe him. It felt wonderful to hear again. He didn't want to give it up again so soon. But his eyelids did feel droopy, and the smoke wafting from the herbal burner in the corner reminded him how his muscles were itching with

tiredness and pain.

"Your body has been beating itself up. You've barely recovered from the poison. You need to sleep, naturally, before you can be properly rested."

He nodded, and closed his eyes, his mind teeming with this newest bit of information. Poison. That's how he'd done it.

_Caveroach poison. I used caveroach poison. I'd been in the outfit when we went to the Red Tower, to get . . . The Keystone! Lokar! But who was I with?_

The image of the brown- and green-haired boy came back into his mind. _I know it's him_, he growled in his head. _But who is he?_

_And how am I still alive?_

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Every Icecarl knew the story of Milla Talon-Hand. It had been passed on through the clans until every member of every ship, no matter how young or old, knew exactly how she'd led the Shield Maidens into the castle, high up on the Mountain of Light, and then travelled into the spirit world of Aenir, where she, the Chosen Emperor Tal Graile-Rerem and a few other Chosen and Freefolk had battled with Sharrakor, the only shadow who'd freed the Forgetting spell cast on him and set out to destroy the Dark World.

Thanks to Milla, the Dark World and all it's inhabitants were safe from the killer shadows who would have attacked all and left nothing behind. And though this thought should have sustained her through the months of commanding Shield Maidens as their War-Chief, it had not. There were many things she could have done, _should_ have done, to ensure that every member of the Sharrakor attack had returned safely. But she hadn't done everything she could.

Crow, the Freefolk boy who had once helped her during the battle against Sharrakor, and the boy who had killed him, was dead. Grief, guilt, and self-hatred had followed her everywhere for the past seven months. She could have loved Crow. Loved him with in brotherhood, like she loved Tal. But she had let Sharrakor get under her guard, and in the end, Crow died as a hero, leaving Milla to rot in grief.

She hadn't thought of it that way when he had first fallen of the plinth. She had screamed his name, hoping that maybe Odris, or even Adras might help him. But when he didn't come up, she'd felt a great sense of loss, and with it the overwhelming sense of respect for the dead boy. He had died with honour, sacrificing himself to kill the dragon-monster. It hadn't been until she'd returned to the dark world and Tal's Castle that she left the first pangs of guilt.

With Odris, who had once been her Spiritshadow and unwilling friend, returned to Aenir, there was no one to sense her thoughts and emotions. No Shield Maiden under her command could sense her inner turmoil, and therefore could not help her. The Crones, who saw everything, did not want to help her. She had to get through it herself, an be stronger for it.

And she had tried. Astyer alone knew how she'd tried, but she couldn't shake the sight of Crow's face in her mind, his voice when he asked her for forgiveness after insulting her to Tal. She couldn't remove the image of him sprinting toward Sharrakor after she'd been beaten, and the image of him hanging off the edge of the plinth.

There was only one person she could talk to about her feelings. Only one person could understand. The person who had once taught her how to feel, and be real inside of herself. The one person who would not hesitate to hold out his arms so that she could cry. Just hold on to him

and cry. She'd never done that. She'd head about it, of course, but she had never imagined anyone so weak as to seek solace in someone else. And she'd never imagined herself doing it.

But it was her only option. The only way to get those haunting memories out of her head. Comfort was so close to her, a mere three hundred stretches away up the Mountain of Light. And yet, it was so very far away. The Crones would know where she had gone, and would send a group of her own Shield Maidens to bring her back.

_Why can't I need comfort? Why can only the Chosen cry? Why must I always be so strong? I have no wish to be the great one. I need him. I need Tal._

Without further thought, she packed a small pack made of Selski hide full of food and drink for her travels. There was airweed for the poisonous gas in the heating tunnels, which was the only way into the Castle.

_Let the Crones stop me,_ she thought, bitterly. _This has nothing to do with them. This is me. And Tal. Maybe I can see Kusi. I never got to see her before._

Smiling for the first time in months, the left the golden mass that was the Ruin Ship.

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"She has gone, Crone Mother." the Shield Maiden whispered. "Milla Talon-Hand has gone."

The old woman sitting on the chair in front of her nodded her head slightly, her milky white eyes flashing in the light caused by the glowjellies in the corner of the room.

"This, I already knew. Please, continue with your news."

The Shield Maiden raised her head slightly, to get a better view of the Crone Mother. She was a mere cadet, having completed her task in helping her clan fight off a rogue Selski. Her name was Dahtil, of the line of Danir, like the War-Chief.

"There is also a message from Harpol of the GreenHerder clan. The Selski have changed their path, Crone Mother." The girl gulped, not wanting to tell her the rest of the news. "They have changed their path, and they are now on a direct course with the Ruin Ship. If they cannot be diverted before they reach here . . ."

The Crone Mother finished the sentence for her.

"The Ruin Ship and the Mountain of Light will be destroyed."

**: End of Chapter One : **A/N - A Look Ahead:

Crow comes back!

Tal and Milla have a heart to heart

Kusi finds someone to look up to

I hope you've all liked it so far. I am! Yes, I know that Milla didn't scream when Crow fel of the plinth in the Old Khamsool, but still, that's how it happened in THIS fic.

You see that little purple button down there? Does it say 'Submit Review' beside it? Yeah? Then you click it. And then you review. It's not that hard.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

A/n - This is going to be a very, VERY short chapter. Or maybe I'll add more, but I don't have much inspiration right now . . . I just felt like updating because it's been a while. Here's to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers:

**_TheFasterYouUpdateTheBetter_** - Thanks a lot! Yeah, it really is a pity that not many people know about the ST series. I mean, people know about Nix's other series, with _Sabriel, Lirael _and _Abhorsen_, but as for Seventh Tower, not many people read it. But it's a great series!

**_TheChickenWhoCrossedTheRoad_** - Love the review, love the welcome, love the fanfic, love the sn. This is your long-awaited second chapter and it sucks and is really really short, but I don't really care. Do you? Probably. But it is my story, after all. Lol.

**_Kewix_** - You're right, there aren't many people writing ST fanfics. I'm in a few different categories so far, and ST is the second smallest category (the smallest is Medical Investigation, which, by the way, is a great show). Thanks for the warm welcome, and I hope you like this chapter.

**_Fiona Chan_** - Well, 'what happens next' is a very broad category. But here's the next chapter, anyhow.

**_Holikimaela_** - Yes, you're quite good at following instructions :). Your AF fic was great, so why wouldn't I write a review? Duh. Geeze, some people just don't get it. You know what I just realised? 'Duh' and 'geeze' are not acceptable words in the English language. Which goes to show just how much WordPerfect 10 knows about slang. Honestly. You haven't read _The Violet Keystone_ yet? You poor, underprivileged child. It was a great book. So I get the whole 'flashback' thing. It'll help you understand the plot better. I'll put some flashbacks into my later chapters, just for you. While I'm at it, you'd better go and track down the sixth book! Thanks a lot for the complements! Some people think that writers are all one and the same, that they all write similarly, but it's just not true. I mean, if Eric Wilson (the Tom and Liz Austen mysteries author) had the same voice as, say, Eoin Colfer, I'd shoot myself. I find it so difficult to get into some books, just because I don't like the way the author writes. It can be a brilliant story, have an ingenious plot, but if I don't like the 'voice' as you put it, it's the most boring story in the world. So I get where you're coming from, totally. And it means a lot to me to have someone say that to me. As for Tal's thoughts narrating the story: I looked back at the first chapter and saw that you're right! In this chapter I tried to have less Tal's thoughts and more Milla and Malen's. Anything else I should do to improve?

**:Chapter Two:**

Malen, the youngest Crone on the Ruin Ship, felt Milla's consciousness leaving the Ruin Ship. She was connected to the War-Chief in particular, due to the distressing events they'd both gone through seven months ago, and she could hear the young woman's angry thoughts as she packed her bags and left. Malen was wracked with indecision. Should she follow the girl, or stay behind and report to the Mother Crone? In haste, she called to the nearest Shield Madien and sent her off with the news of the War-Chief's departure. Then she ran to her quarters, her footsteps pounding on the golden metal of the ship.

Minutes later, she was rushing out the front entrance, pulling her outer furs around her and squinting through the swirling snow. A dark shape lurched through the drifts in front of her, forcing itself up the hill. She knew who it was, and followed swiftly, calling out in her mind.

_Milla! MILLA!_

The shape turned, and just as quickly turned back to her task, trying to move faster, but knowing that the older woman would catch up in only a matter of minutes. Her legs felt as heavy as rock, but she pressed on, hoping that Malen wouldn't catch up. If she did, and if she ordered Milla back to the Ruin Ship, Milla wouldn't be able to resist. The power of the Crones was stronger even than Milla's pain.

"Please," she gasped, turning to Malen as the Crone caught up with her. "Don't make me go back."

Malen leaned over, breathing hard. Milla's pace had been faster than she was used to, and she'd had to catch up.

"I didn't come to stop you," she said, once she'd regained her breath. "I want to come with you."

Milla gave her an almost appraising look, then she nodded.

"I'd be delighted if you came," she whispered.

Malen hefted her pack again, and the two of them set off together up the Mountain of Light.

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"I told you, Tal," Rerem sighed, staring down at his fourteen-year-old son with annoyance. "Just because you're the Emperor of the Chosen doesn't mean that you can skip out of school."

Tal looked up, running a hand through his brown and green hair. He didn't understand why his father was getting so upset about this. He'd only missed a few days, and those had only been because of CastleFolk feuds. He'd had to handle so many little fights between families, and friends, and not to mention the rogue Chosen and Underfolk he had to deal with every day. He was, in effect, overworked.

"Dad," he groaned, trying to pull the blankets of his bed back over his head. "I need a _break_. I've been working way too much. Being the 'Emperor' isn't a bundle of laughs and useless ceremonies, you know."

Rerem shook his head. His son had the most annoying habit of making him forget he should be mad. He pulled the blankets off of Tal's bed. It was time to be harsh.

"Tal, if you do not get out of bed in the next three seconds, I am going to dock your allowance and take away your Sunstone!"

"What?" Tal yelped, jumping out of bed in a rush. "You can't do that!"

"Watch me!" Rerem shouted back, pushing Tal bodily out of his room, while Tal yelled:

"NO! NO I'M NOT DRESSED!" He stopped abruptly when he saw his mother, Gref, Kusi, and (to his dismay) his mother's friends' daughter, Amma, sitting in the greeting room. They were all laughing at him. He glanced down at his half-naked form, then ran back into his room in embarrassment, slamming the door shut firmly behind him.

Rerem smiled as he watched his son bolt back into his room. Then he turned to the group of laughing people with fake confusion written over his face.

"Did I do something wrong?"

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Crow's body was still aching, his throat dry. He was being forced by his caretakers to pour bottle after bottle of Chosen sweetwater down his throat, but all he wanted was answers. Who was Pettoff? Why were they talking care of him? Why hadn't the caveroach poison killed him? Why would Sharrakor's minions want to hurt him now that Sharrakor was dead?

"Pettoff is our leader, little human," the raspy voice of the creature, whose name was Gonnarr, responded from an inner room of the canvas hut. "Pettoff was the one who found you. Pettoff thought you could live, so she brought you to me. I am the healer of the Guardians. We take care of everything and everyone injured or ill."

Crow regarded Gonnarr with interest. The Guardians, he'd said. It was a strange race, even by Aenir's standards. What type of a person — _or creature_, he reminded himself — would willingly care for any other? Gonnarr was a squat figure, with loads of bushy black hair and bright eyes that shone with a colour Crow had never seen before. He was vaguely humanoid, but there were some oddities that proved him to be of a different race. His head was too big, and his arms and legs were too long for his height. His mouth was quite wide, as though he was constantly smiling. He was smiling as he handed Crow yet another bottle of sweetwater.

"As to why the caveroach poison didn't kill you, well, we have many theories. The most persistant is that because you were in the Old Khamsoul, you couldn't be hurt. Khamsoul never likes anyone to be hurt within its walls."

"But it let Sharrakor die," Crow pointed out, taking a sip of the sweetwater and grimacing. _I'm going to be sick if I have to drink any more of this_, he thought grimly, but chugged it down, feeling it ease his parched throat. It might be disgusting, but it helped.

"Ah, but that's the thing, little carrion bird," Gonnarr grinned. "Sharrakor is not dead."

Crow wanted yell "WHAT!" but never got to. Instead, a swell of bile and acid surged up from his stomach, and his only response to the shocking news was to vomit spectacularly on the floor of Gonnarr's hut.

**: End of Chapter Two : **

A/N - I hope you all liked that chapter! It wasn't my greatest, but still!

Remember my instructions from last chapter? You don't? Ok then . . You see that little purple button down there? Yeah, that one. What does it say beside it? Report for possible abuse? That's NOT the one you want! Ok, go through the list until you find 'Submit Review.' Found it? Ok, now press GO. And review.


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